Transience (24 page)

He created the fake page for Randall Peterson.
 
He even found his actual page, and was able to download current pictures of him for authenticity.
 
Too easy.
 
Oh look, he does drive a BMW.

About 4 minutes later, he'd put together a fake page that even Randall couldn't decipher was phony without scrutinizing every detail.
 
And the only thing he got wrong was the date of birth — it wasn't listed, so he guessed.
 

He then sent out friend requests to hundreds of people he never met, knowing most just clicked yes because the more connections you had, the cooler you were.
 
He knew before long he would be loaded.

He brought up Teresa's page and sent a friend request.
 
He also sent a message, telling her about how he had just run into…
shit, what was the other girl's name?
 
He scanned Teresa's posts until he found a picture of the fat one with the tiny leather jacket.
 
There she was, squeezing her fat face into the picture, blowing a kiss.
 
A simple mouse over and:
Natalie Krycia.
 

Check.

He updated his message to let Teresa know how he had just run into Natalie,
you remember, our friend from high school?
 
She said she still spoke to you, and that you were still local!
 
He then let her know how anxious he was to meet her and re-connect over coffee.
 
Maybe they could go share a Hazelnut iced coffee, which was his favorite.
 

Was that too slick?
 
He decided it was, and deleted that part.
 
He could save it for their next conversation.
 
He sent the message and waited.
 
And waited.
 
He started up the van to go to his next appointment.
 
He shoved the stolen laptop under his seat and drove off.
 

He whistled while he worked that day; excited, anxious.
 
He replaced the flange bolts on a toilet with a spring in his step.
 

After work, he passed a public library.
 
He parked and hustled inside, they were closing in 5 minutes.
 

He grabbed a seat at the computer tables and surfed to his fake page.
 
She had accepted his friend request, even though he only had 35 friends.
 
He would mention how he is very picky about who he connects with, hence the low number.
 
She also responded to his message.
 
She couldn't believe it was him after all these years, and she couldn't wait to catch up.
 

Checkmate.

CHAPTER 40

"This won't take long," Jack insisted.
 
Hester took the hint and stepped back out of Carmen's bedroom into the hallway.
 

"Take all the time you need."
 

"Thank you."
 
Jack waited until he heard her footsteps reach the kitchen.
 
He shut the door, but didn't seal it.
 
He didn't want to seem obvious.
 

He scanned the room.
 
He knew exactly what he was looking for — where it would be —
if
it was there.
 
He took a step towards the dresser with trepidation.
 

Hester adjusted her chair in the kitchen, the scrape on the linoleum froze Jack in his tracks.
 
He didn't want her to catch him doing what he was about to do.
 
How could he honestly explain what he was searching for, its possible location divined through a child's subconscious
.
 
He was only there to leave no stone unturned.
 
Even a stone as ridiculous as this.
 
There was no way it could be there.
 
But the river, the necklace, her reaction!
 

Let's get this over with.

He stared once again at the framed picture of Carmen and Laura.
 
There was a small, cheaply made green jewelry box with three tiny drawers, one of them open.
 
Jack touched it, closed it with his fingertips.
 
There were a few trinkets from the Caribbean, a Dominican flag in a glass cup, a hairbrush and a small plastic sewing kit on a shelf.
 
He glided his fingers along the comforter of her still-made bed.
 
There was a thin layer of dust that had collected over the years.
 
Jack swished his hands together, brushing it off.

On top of the dresser was a broken lamp, a few scattered CDs, and some dried up painting supplies.
 
Jack crouched down on one knee and braced himself against the side of the dresser.
 
It was old solid wood, not pressed board, with a hand carved pattern along the bottom that had small arches forming a point in the center.
 
He examined its craftsmanship.
 
Quit stalling.

He took a breath and reached his hand underneath.
 
His fingertips pierced through a spongy substance that was probably an ancient collection of spider webs.
 
He wasn't squeamish and kept feeling around.
 
Nothing.
 
He kept one ear trained on Hester in the kitchen, any slight rustle and he'd have to abort the mission.
 

He flattened the side of his face against the floor and reached all the way under, swiping his hand back and forth like a windshield wiper across the entire nether region of the dresser.
 
Empty.
 

He retracted his arm and leaned on the dresser for balance.
 
He opened the top drawer and fished around through her delicates.
 
He opened the middle — tossing the contents impatiently.

The bottom drawer wasn't on its hinge correctly, something blocking it from closing completely.
 
He bent down and reached inside when the bedroom door opened.
 
Jack didn't hear it.
 

It was the dog, Faucet.
 
He licked Jack's face, surprising him.

"Stop it," Jack whispered, pushing him away.
 

"Detective?
 
Everything all right?"
 

Jack spun his head around.
 
Francisco was standing in the doorway.
 
Jack pushed himself up to one knee, fumbling for a quick explanation as to why he was disassembling Carmen's furniture.

"Yes, I was just — did your sister share her room with anyone else?"
 

"No."

Jack nodded, as if the question was an important one.
 
"I wanted to thank you for all you've done," Francisco said, offering Jack a hand.
 
He eased him back up to his feet.
 
Jack was impressed, Francisco was small in stature, but he easily lifted Jack with his strong grip.
 
"My mother's suffered so much.
 
This week was the first we've seen her somewhat… at peace… in a long time.
 
For years she's been on about asking Jesus for another chance, hoping against hope to see or speak to my sister again, that she might be found alive.
 
But mostly it was the not knowing.
 
Now, I think she can stop worrying and accept the truth.
 
My family can't thank you enough."
 

Thank Rebecca, don
'
t thank me.

Francisco took Jack's hand and shook it.
 
His military forged grip was like iron.
 
Jack tried to think of something to say, but couldn't come up with anything appropriate, so he simply nodded.

"Just one thing, how did you ever find her body?
 
She went missing so long ago."
 

Jack stammered, "It's complicated, I-"

"I guess that's your job."

"Yes," Jack said, relieved Francisco didn't press.

Hester entered the room.
 
"Francisco, leave him, he needs to work."
 
Hester pushed him out by the shoulders as if he was still seven years old.
 
She waved at Jack and closed the door, sealing it.
 

Jack waited a beat, long enough for one breath, then sprung into action.
 
He pulled out the bottom drawer and reached inside.
 

His fingers found something and his eyes went wide.
 

Wedged into the sleeve of the wood was something hard.
 
Jack felt a cold chill slide down his spine.
 
He pulled it, and it came free.
 
It was a hard cover book, leather bound with a tiny lock, wrapped closed with rubber bands and what looked like a stretched out hair tie.
 
He held it with reverence, disbelief.
 
He knew it hadn't moved since it was last placed there, and he was sure no one knew it was still hidden there but him.
 
And Leonard.
 
And Rebecca.

If he did the right thing, told Hester about his discovery, it would be a challenge to take it with him, examine it.
 
She'd never allow something so precious and sacred to leave the boundary of her home.
 
But it could hold a clue, maybe several.
 
No time to debate the morality of taking it.
 
He slid it into the large inside pocket of his jacket.
 

Now for the other issue.

It was there
.
 
It was actually there.
 
Just like she described.
 
A girl's ramblings under hypnosis had led him to find something that transcended death.
 
Jack's hands trembled.
 
This must have been what Leonard had felt like when he read about Carmen's body being discovered.
 
Jack felt a sudden rush of blood to the head and had to place his hand on the bedpost to stabilize his rubbery legs.
 

He took a moment to gather himself, then exited the room.
 
He passed right by Hester in the kitchen and headed for the front door.
 

"Can I get you something to drink?"

"No, thank you," Jack said, not making eye contact.
 
She got up quickly and followed him.

"You're leaving?"

"Yes, thank you again."
 
Jack opened the front door and let himself out.
 
Hester stood in the doorway, open mouthed, afraid she'd done something to offend him.
 
He hadn't even asked her one question.

CHAPTER 41

Jack drove a few blocks until he was a good safe distance from Hester's apartment building.
 
He pulled over along the side of the road.

He sat parked for 10 minutes, just staring at Carmen's diary on the seat beside him.
 
He ran his fingers along the worn leather binding; conflicted, curious.
 
The implications of it even existing made it seem like some religious text, ancient.
 

He caressed the tiny brass lock that held it closed.
 
He could have broken it with a good squeeze of his thumb and forefinger.
 
But doing so felt like such a violation.
 
He picked it up, held it firmly with both hands, then tossed it back down again.

"Shit."

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel for a few moments, then snatched it back up again with purpose.
 
"Forgive me…"

He broke the tiny seal.
 
The writing was all in Spanish.
 
Some of the pages had tiny drawings in the side margins.
 
He flipped through a few and a photo slipped out.
 
It was a picture of Carmen and a young man, smiling — a photo booth picture, the kind you'd get at the mall or amusement park.
 
On the back was written CM & VR in a heart.
 
Jack flipped to the last entry.
 
It was dated a week before she was reported missing.
 
He struggled to decipher a few words, but his Spanish was rudimentary at best:
 
hello, goodbye, bathroom — and all of the curses shouted at him while interrogating murder suspects in the inner city.
 
That was about it.

It was getting late, if he didn't hurry, it would be dark soon.
 
Jack circled the block several times, scoping out the locals, looking for a potential volunteer.
 
After assessing the candidates — a man in his undershirt drinking beer on his stoop, a couple arguing outside their apartment, two men working on their car, he returned to a group of 13-14 year old girls, singing clever rhymes while skipping double dutch rope in the street.
 

He took a moment to debate what he was doing.
 
Several officers back at the station spoke Spanish and could easily translate this for him.
 
But the content of the book, its circumstances, exposed him to ridicule, especially with Harrington, who'd made him question his own judgment.
 
When it came to humiliation, Jack was risk averse.

He rolled down his passenger side window, leaning over.
 
"Excuse me!" he called out to the girls.
 
They didn't hear, so he called out again, "Hey, excuse me!"
 
One of the girls waiting her turn looked back at him:
You talking to me?
 
"Hi, yes, can I talk to you?"

She had thick wavy brown hair and wore cut off shorts with a half shirt that had the word
precioso
bedazzled on the chest.
 
She cautiously approached his car, leaving a good two feet of distance.
 
Her friends paid him no mind and kept their routine going, jumping with perfect timing while the two others spun the rope faster and faster, chanting their song.